


The Rest

by Bronnwyn



Series: Kastle One-Shots [5]
Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, listen i just watched episode 10 of the punisher and here i am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 04:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12763620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bronnwyn/pseuds/Bronnwyn
Summary: Karen understands Frank. Frank understands Karen. Sort of.





	The Rest

**Author's Note:**

> Vague spoilers for The Punisher, maybe. I just had to write this. Okay bye.

Karen understands Frank. Frank understands Karen. These are the two absolutes in their chaotic universe, a world so coated in blood that you have to squint through all the red to see the rest.

As for “the rest,” well…

It’s nothing but dark corners. Jagged shadows on the wall. Hands closed around her neck, her wrist, her hair.

She is so, so tired of everyone _touching_ her. Tossing her around like a ragdoll, playing her like a trump card to get what they want, or ignoring her altogether—sheltering her from the dark corners she already knows are there. Matt did it. She may or may not hate him for it.

Frank, though…Frank never lies to her. He does not tear her apart and hastily sew her back together every time he opens his mouth.  He simply leaves. He shows up, he saves her life, he leaves, and she’s left alone in her apartment with her dark corners and dark thoughts and dark, red wine.

She nurses the glass, slouching on her kitchen counter because she can’t be bothered to make the trip to the couch. Her heels, abandoned by the door, still bear blood on the soles from what happened. Three weeks. Feels like much longer.

You’d figure she’d be used to trauma by now. She’s practically a professional.

But you’d be wrong.

Dark corners press in on the periphery of her vision. She takes another sip from her glass, blinking against the soft yellow glow of the lamp she’d managed to turn on. Pain pounds in her temple, right around where her scar has healed.

She is so, so tired of everyone touching her.

Except for Frank.

“Damn it, Castle,” she mutters to herself, and drains the rest of her glass.

Down the hall, she hears the bathroom door squeak open. A large shadow skims across the wall. For once, her stomach doesn’t clench. Her pulse _does_ speed up, but it’s for a reason completely unrelated to fear.

_It’s the wine_ , she tells herself.

Right.

“Your pipes were leaking,” Frank says as he lumbers into the kitchen, black shirt slung over his shoulder. He smells like her soap, lavender and vanilla, water droplets still glistening on his skin. “Tightened ‘em up, though, so…Shouldn’t need to fix ‘em again for awhile.”

Part of her wants to make some snide comment. _My hero_ , something stupid like that. She might be a little tipsy. Not drunk. Not yet. Another glass and she’ll be long gone. “Thanks,” is what she decides on instead. She stares down at her empty glass instead of his chest.

Frank always has to leave. She understands. It’s…for the best.

For her. For him.

Right.

She’s gotten to the point where she doesn’t even ask anymore. He’ll show up on her doorstep, fix her with that sad soldier’s stare, and she can’t help but let him in. She can’t decide if it’s a mistake or not. Doesn’t feel like one now. It feels like…safety.

It feels like a god damn kick in the head.

Frank brushes off her gratitude with his usual mumble and half-hearted shrug. He stands across from her at the counter, arms resting on its smooth surface. She looks at him. He looks at her. The dark corners are still just as dark, but with him here, they are less threatening.

She’s got The _Punisher_ on her side and a gun in her purse and a body full of wine? Who could possibly hurt her now?

“Listen, Karen,” Frank begins, but she lifts her hand to cut him off.

“No,” she says. “All I do is listen, Frank, and I really, _really_ don’t feel like doing that tonight, okay? I just…I don’t.”

She lets out a rush of breath and rakes her fingers through her hair.

Frank presses his lips together and nods. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she says.

“Okay,” he says.

They really have to stop doing this.

Whatever _this_ is.

She can’t quite put her finger on it. Maybe that’s her sign to cut it the fuck out, already. It would be easier if she stopped trying to define whatever it is that she shares with Frank Castle. This connection, this _bond_ , it strengthens every time they’re in the same room. She can feel it. On a chemical level, as though it’s part of her DNA. Her hair is blonde, her eyes are blue, and she has feelings for Frank Castle.

A man who has murdered dozens of people. A man she can never fully agree with, but a man who has never let her down. Not once. He’s saved her life, now her pipes…How could she _not_ have feelings for him?

Ah, shit.

She’s so stupid.

With another rush of breath, Karen forces herself to look Frank Castle in his sad, sad eyes. “Frank,” she says, “why are you here? Again? Huh? After what happened, I thought…I thought you’d be long gone. You—you _should_ be long gone. What if someone—“

“No one saw me, Karen,” he says in that gravelly voice of his. Like he regularly eats granite for breakfast. “I wouldn’t have come here if they did. I wouldn’t put you at risk like that.”

“I’m not worried about _me_ , Frank, I’m worried about _you._ ”

He just blinks at her.

Laughter gets stuck in her throat. A badly swallowed pill. “Jesus, Frank, really? How many times do we have to keep having this conversation? You being here puts _you_ at risk so much more than it does me.”

He laughs, too, but it gets stuck. She tries not to notice how the muscle ripples in his arms. Shaking his head, he pushes himself off the counter. “You think I care about that?”

“Obviously not,” Karen shoots back. She’s overcompensating for how the wine is making her feel. For how his gratuitous shirtlessness makes her heart race. He doesn’t need to make her heart race. This won’t end well for either of them. But she told him…she wanted there to be an _after._ For him. For her. For…them. God, she’s so stupid. “Frank—”

Frank’s heavy brow furrows. One hand grasps his shirt while the other grasps the edge of the counter. “You want me to leave? That it? I’ll go, Karen, all you gotta do is say the word.”

She scoffs. Of course she doesn’t want him to leave. She wants the exact opposite, and that’s the problem. She’s always loved trouble and trouble has always loved her. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “No, Frank, I—…” She pauses, letting the words die on her tongue. “I just wish…”

He looks at her, expectant.

She isn’t sure what she wants to say, so she just says the first thing that pops into her brain. A sad little smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “I just wish you cared about you as much as I do.”

Frank, of course, has nothing to say to that. He shakes his head again, reaching for the wine bottle she’s resolved to stop pouring from. “Red, huh?”

“Red,” she confirms. It’s hard to keep the bitterness from her voice. “I have beer, too, if you want one. Might as well drink if you’re gonna stay here. It’ll help you sleep.”

That’s why _she_ drinks anymore. Takes the edge off. Makes the nightmares a little less sharp.

Frank sighs, rounding the counter to get to the refrigerator. She stands very, very still as he walks past, breath catching in her throat when his arm brushes hers. He opens the fridge, grabs a beer, and pops it open. “You gonna be pissed at me for the rest of the night?”

“I’m considering it,” Karen says. The bitterness is gone. She’s too tired for it.

Frank takes a swig of his beer. “Fair enough.”

He doesn’t move from his dark corner and she doesn’t move from hers. The lamplight barely touches them here. They are enshadowed together and nothing has ever felt more right. Karen turns away from the counter and faces him. This man who chooses her every single time. Who saves her from the most impossible of circumstances. Who understands her darkness, who leans into her light.

She looks at him. He looks at her.

“What are you doing here, Frank?” she asks.

He has his beer by the neck, his shirt balled in his opposite hand. His breathing is soft in the silence of her apartment, but she can hear it all the same. “Wanted to say hi,” is all he says.

In a tone that suggests more than a simple social call.

“Well,” Karen murmurs, not buying it at all. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Frank replies. His lids are heavy, dark circles like bruises underneath his eyes.

And that’s that.

Karen’s heart thrums into an erratic rhythm against her ribcage. She feels like a hummingbird, feverish and small. Sweat slicks her palms. She wipes them on her skirt. “You know, Frank…”

He says nothing.

She steps forward, banishing the precious distance between them. She presses her hand to his scarred chest, where his heart throbs against her palm. “Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m supposed to love you or hate you.”

There’s a thin line between those things, you know.

To walk that razor’s edge is something she’s never been very good at. She loves too fiercely and hates too ferociously for such a precarious trapeze.

So, she has to pick one.

Does she love Frank Castle? Or does she hate him?

“Karen…” Frank trails away as she lifts her hand to his face. “What…what’re you doin’, huh?”

She wants to trace every scar on his body, every line in his skin. She wants to map out a history of Frank Castle using only what she can find on his body. She’s wanted that for a long time, she thinks, she just never wanted to admit it. “I have no fucking clue, Frank,” she says, then kisses him squarely on the mouth.

At first, it’s a bit like kissing a statue. He is hard and immovable and he doesn’t kiss her back. Until he does. A statue come to life.

He drops his beer in the sink and holds her face in his hands, kissing her so fiercely that it takes her breath away. She only catches it when his mouth moves to her jaw, searing a line down to her neck. She feels herself lean back so that he might have greater access to her throat, her breasts, whatever it is that he’d like to have access to.

His kisses are a brand on her skin, burning into the essence of her until she can feel nothing but the heat. God, this is dumb. It’s great, but it’s dumb. She realizes just how dumb it is when his kisses slow to a halt. He heaves a sigh, leaning back against the fridge.

“What the hell is this, Karen?” he mumbles. He won’t look her in the eye, looking at the floor instead.

She can’t look at him, either. She presses her fingers to her tingling lips and shakes her head. “I…I shouldn’t have done that. Shit. _Shit._ ”

“Karen…”

“I’m sorry,” she says, backing away, one hand on the counter for support. She doesn’t trust herself right now. Making out with Frank Castle in her kitchen like they’re a couple of horny teenagers. Ridiculous. “You didn’t come here for that.”

She hears Frank laugh. It doesn’t get stuck this time, slipping past his lips as a fully fledged noise. She watches out of the corner of her eye as he pulls his shirt on. He doesn’t move from his place in the dark, and he doesn’t try to follow her, either. He lets her stumble into her little living room, where she collapses onto the couch in an embarrassed heap.

“I’m an idiot,” she says, shielding her eyes with her hand so Frank can’t see how close to tears she is. He strikes her as the kind of man who can’t stand to see women cry. He’d have no idea what to do with her. “I’m sorry, Frank. Really. That was dumb of me. A, um…A total violation of your personal space.”

Even though he definitely kissed her back. A lot.

She almost flinches when Frank sits next to her on the couch. Its frame creaks underneath his weight. “You’re the farthest thing from an idiot, Karen,” he says. A smile plays at his lips. “And, uh...c’mon, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoyin’ your, uh—what’d you call it? _Violation of my personal space?”_

Oh, now he’s just making fun of her.

She gives him a little nudge with her foot. His smile widens. Her heart skips a beat.

“You’re…” Frank looks down at his hands, curled his lap, then up at her. His smile is gone. “You’re something special, Karen, and I don’t wanna mess that up. Mess _you_ up.”

“I’m already messed up,” she says. She’s been messed up for a good long while now. “We’re all messed up, Frank. It’s just…It’s how we deal with it that matters.”

He sniffs, and then he nods.  The light from the lamp illuminates his face. “Yeah, maybe.”

Yeah.

They sit in silence, absorbing one another’s company. Everywhere Karen looks, there’s a dark corner. Then the light. Shining right on Frank. Mustering what’s left of her courage, she allows herself to rest her head on his shoulder, her hair spilling down his chest. He doesn’t move, but he doesn’t push her off, either.

After a long, long while, Franke Castle looks down at Karen Page.

He lifts his hand to her face, fingers brushing her cheek.

Her breath catches. So does his.

Their mouths meet, and this time, he’s the one who initiates it. He doesn’t want her to feel like she’s pushed him into anything.

Because she hasn’t.

This is exactly where he wants to be.


End file.
